


Heed Your Close Friend's Words

by DebbieF



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 23:33:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3187382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DebbieF/pseuds/DebbieF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Okay, there are a few spoilers in this story pertaining to S2, Ep 1 Keep Your Friends Close.<br/>Nothing really graphic but another d'Art in distress story.</p><p>++++</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heed Your Close Friend's Words

The adrenalin rush d’Artagnan felt after his wild rescue attempt of Lucie DeFoix had worn off hours ago. Now he only felt great concern that her brother, General DeFoix wouldn’t survive from his wounds.

Lucie’s quick kiss had taken him by complete surprise, but he couldn’t in all honesty say that he didn’t enjoy it. Pulling her in close to reciprocate, d’Artagnan subconsciously compared the kiss to how he felt when he was with Constance. In hindsight, that may have not been his best decision to date.

After Lucie’s departure, d’Artagnan headed back down the steps only to encounter a dazed looking Constance. He swiped at his mouth feeling guilty that he had been caught out. God only knows why he should feel this way considering that Constance, in his opinion, made the bad decision to stay with that idiot husband of hers. Never the less, d’Artagnan felt badly that she had witnessed the innocent exchange.

Informing Constance that the general was not faring well, d’Artagnan compounded the breach between them by acting like a child refused a favorite toy. He bitterly regretted his damning words to her. D’Artagnan actually called her a coward to her face. Perhaps he should find Porthos later to ask his friend to give him a swift kick to his ass. It was what d’Artagnan only deserved. She was the most beautiful, compassionate, courageous woman he had ever known, and feeling about an inch high d’Artagnan made his was across the courtyard.

++++

“What’s your hurry, Musketeer?”

Recognizing Comte Rochefort’s voice, d’Artagnan came to an abrupt halt turning to face him. “No rush,” d’Artagnan said. “I’m just heading back to my barracks.” He didn’t know why he felt unsettled in this man’s presence as Rochefort’s icy blue eyes clashed with his own cool brown ones. 

As for Rochefort’s part, he was relishing the chance to taste the boy and in his own warped manner get back at the inseparables for a bit of revenge. Since he had gained the king’s favor and now had power of position behind him that Captain Treville oh so foolishly declined, Rochefort thought that would impress the boy. In that he found out how very wrong he could be.

“Since I’m freshly back to Paris I find that I’m in need of some stimulating company tonight over dinner.” Rochefort could see the young man’s eyes widened in surprise. “Would you be free later?”

“I thank you for your gracious invitation," d'Artagnan smiled. “But perhaps another day as I have already promised my brothers to join them tonight for a meal.”

Rochefort seethed inside at d’Artagnan’s refusal but he presented an outward calm. He would bide his time and seize the moment with both hands when it came. “I'll look forward to it," with a nod of his head Rochefort watched d’Artagnan turn to leave.

Observing the youngster striding back toward the garrison, Rochefort took in d’Artagnan’s lean form. The boy was nicely built, not overly muscular but just right in his estimation. He could tell that much just by the way d’Artagnan’s uniform snuggly fit him. Slim hips and long legs added up to a nice package to wet his perverse appetites. Oh it wouldn’t be long before he had d’Artagnan underneath him crying out for completion.

++++

*Athos’s apartment*

Pouring d’Artagnan a glass of wine, Athos studied the young man for a moment. Porthos and Aramis were over at a smaller table playing a game of cards, leaving him alone with their pup. It gave him and d’Artagnan time to catch up on the past few days, but he could tell that even though the youngster was here in body that d’Artagnan’s mind was elsewhere. “Something troubles you?”

“Comte Rochefort invited me to dinner tonight,” d’Artagnan smirked at Athos’s startled expression.

His hand froze in mid-air for a second as Athos placed the bottle of wine back down on the table. “Be careful with him.”

Sipping his wine slowly, d’Artagnan glanced at Athos askance. “You do not trust him, especially after all we've just been through?"

“*Trust* and Rochefort do not go hand in hand," Athos retorted dryly. "Comte Rochefort is not a very likable individual,” Athos sat back in his chair, the glass of wine in his hand nearly forgotten as his thoughts turned toward the past. “When he was here in Paris working closely with Richelieu we wondered who was worse,” Athos observed d’Artagnan frown at that. “Why would he extend an invitation to someone he barely knows?” worry laced Athos’s words. “Especially when he made no secret of the fact that he despises all Musketeers.”

“I’m not the one to ask," d'Artagnan shrugged. "It sounded like Rochefort was going to seek me out again at a later date since I was otherwise involved tonight.”

Grunting, Athos finished his drink. He’d let it go for now, but he’d have to carefully watch Rochefort’s interactions with their youngest from now on. “By the way, I encountered Constance earlier and she appeared near tears,” he watched d’Artagnan squirm in his chair. “Dare I say you upset her?”

Staring innocently up at the ceiling for a second or two, d’Artagnan then met his mentor’s curious eyes. Then hanging his head down he mumbled, “I need Porthos to kick me in the ass.”

Athos nearly spit out his wine. “What the deuce did you say to her?” Athos had enough drama in his life already but it would seem that the whelp needed to add more.

Briefly explaining what led up to the bitter exchange of words between himself and Constance, d’Artagnan’s eyes were downcast. So he missed the sudden flash of Athos’s blue eyes as they glowered at him.

“You don’t need Porthos to do the job,” Athos growled low not wanting the others to hear, “I’ll do it for you!” He stared at the bent head of the boy and remembered what d’Artagnan meant to him. Still he chided d’Artagnan with a few well placed words. “You profess to love that woman and in the same breath name her a coward,” he stood up. “I thought better of you.” Leaving their youngest to brood alone, Athos joined his other brothers.

++++

*Five days later*

Since the night he had told Athos about Constance, d’Artagnan had felt the man’s brunt of temper on more than one occasion during their sparrings. Fed up when Athos yelled at him for a poorly executed parry, d’Artagnan stalked away from his mentor throwing his sword on the ground in frustrated anger.

“What were you trying to do to the lad,” Aramis curious eyes followed the youngster until d’Artagnan left the garrison.

“Yeah, ya acted like ya hated the whelp,” Porthos crossed his arms, frowning sternly.

“D’Artagnan’s still wet behind the ears in more ways than one,” Athos grumbled, stalking past his brothers.

“Something’s upset him,” Aramis mused as he went back to cleaning his poignard and muskets.

“It’s not right him and d’Art being at loggerheads with one another,” Porthos plucked the poignard out of Aramis’s hands. “Did ya hear what I said?”

Snatching his poignard back, Aramis shot his huge friend a strange look. “Last time I tried to interfere in one of Athos’s affairs,” he rubbed at his chin, “I ended up in the infirmary.”

“That was cause ya tried to separate Athos from his bottle,” Porthos laughed.

“I get no sympathy from you at all, mon ami,” Aramis huffed while an amused snort passed from Porthos’s lips

++++

Upset with himself and Athos, d’Artagnan wasn’t thinking clearly when he was confronted by Comte Rochefort for a second time. Angry over his mentor’s treatment of him these past few days prompted d’Artagnan to accept the comte’s invitation for dinner again, despite words of warning from Athos.

++++

*Place Royale - Rochefort’s apartment*

That night d’Artagnan arrived at the appointed time and nervously awaited Rochefort’s appearance. He shouldn’t have come. Athos said the comte couldn’t be trusted. So then why did he find himself here?

Looking around the area, d’Artagnan was surrounded by wealth. The Place Royale was noted to be one of the most prosperous spots in Paris. Apparently Rochefort could afford it.

Finally the door opened and Rochefort ushered d’Artagnan inside his home away from home. Chuckling, he observed the youngster’s uncertain features. “Did you want to change your mind? It's not too late and I promise I won't be offended."

“Non,” d’Artagnan lied. He didn’t want to appear rude, but he did wish he had stayed back at the barracks.

“I’m really harmless no matter what your friend Athos has filled your head with.” Guiding the boy over to the dining table, Rochefort indicated for d’Artagnan to take a seat. “Now let’s get better acquainted.”

“By any chance are you trying to recruit me?” d’Artagnan’s eyes narrowed as his suspicions began to grow. It would make sense of everything the comte had done to be friendly toward him. After what d’Artagnan had gone through with Cardinal Richelieu and Milady, he never wanted to travel down that road again.

“Could I?” a sly smile played about his lips as Rochefort sat back against his chair, simply watching d’Artagnan mull the idea around.

Shaking his head, d’Artagnan splayed out his hands. “Non.”

“Didn’t think so,” Rochefort raised a finger at one of his retainers for their dinner to be served. “Now, tell me all about yourself?”

++++

Two hours later found d’Artagnan stretched out on a bed with his arms each bound to one of the bedposts. His foggy mind was still spinning. D’Artagnan realized too late that his wine had been laced with some type of drug. Damn! He hated it when Athos was right. It was a good thing that he hadn't wagered his friends on the outcome. 

As he struggled against his restraints, d’Artagnan realized he was shivering. Looking down the rest of his body he suddenly knew why. Apparently d’Artagnan was to be the main course tonight and Rochefort was going to dine on him. The comte had removed nearly every stitch of clothing from his body, leaving him in just his smalls.

“Finally awake I see,” Rochefort smiled in anticipation of the delicacies served up for him tonight. He had changed and was only in a robe of red velvet material. Underneath it he wore nothing at all.

“Why?” d’Artagnan whispered. “Why me?”

Untying the sash to his robe, Rochefort shrugged out of it throwing the garment carelessly over a chair. He chuckled as d’Artagnan saw his state of undress. “Three reasons apply.”

“And they are?” d’Artagnan tried, but with the drug swimming heavily in his system he couldn’t work himself free of his bonds. 

“Athos... Aramis... and Porthos,” Rochefort smirked at the names.

“You harm me they’ll strike you down!” d’Artagnan hissed. His vision was so blurry he couldn’t focus very well on the comte's features.

“And risk reprisal from King Louis,” Rochefort’s harsh laughter filled the bed chamber, “and those paldrons they hold so dear.” He smiled down at the boy. “Honestly, d’Artagnan, you really are just a farm boy from Gascony.” Seeing the hurt cross d’Artagnan’s face, Rochefort laid a gentle hand against the child’s cheek. “When we are done, you won’t say a word of this to anyone.”

“Why would I do that?” d’Artagnan spat, still struggling against the ropes. This was worse than being tied up to barrels of gunpowder he thought.

“Saving face,” Rochefort shot back. “I wouldn’t think you’d like the entire Musketeer regiment to find out about this.” Seeing d’Artagnan clamp his lips shut tight, Rochefort knew he had scored a point as he laid down beside the lovely young man. He ran his fingers lightly up and down d’Artagnan’s smooth chest. Then his right hand reached out to grip the boy’s chin as he slammed his mouth down on top of d’Artagnan’s, plunging his tongue in an out.

Ripping his mouth away, d’Artagnan’s breathing was harsh to his own ears. “Please, don’t do this.”

“Pleading, d’Artagnan, tsk tsk,” Rochefort grinned. “How unbecoming of a King’s Musketeer.” Rubbing his body lewdly up and down the youngster’s, Rochefort could feel d’Artagnan’s arousal. “You like that don’t you?”

Whimpering, he felt betrayed by his own body but knew it was because of the drugs he had been fed. And if that weren't bad enough, d'Artagnan's head felt nearly twice its normal size and ached so badly that he wished for oblivion. D’Artagnan prayed that somehow his friends would perform a timely rescue. It wasn't as if they didn't know where he was, since D'Artagnan had stopped by Porthos’s place on the way here to tell him where he’d be if needed. His brother tried to talk him out of it, but his own stubborn Gascon pride had prevented him from listening to reason.

Feeling his smalls being pulled down past his hips d’Artagnan renewed his struggles in earnest, trying to buck Rochefort off but his body wouldn’t obey his commands. He was too weak to fight and was about to give up all hope until he heard the bedroom door splinter as it burst open. Closing his eyes as tears of relief leaked out of them, d’Artagnan opened them again to see three avenging angels with swords and muskets in the entrance.

“Someone’s being very rude to come calling unannounced,” Rochefort grinned devilishly at the boy as he turned his head to see who had come crashing in. “Musketeers,” he sneered. “I don’t believe you were invited tonight."

"We left our invitations at home," Porthos snarled as Athos stormed his way toward the bed.

It was with relief that d’Artagnan felt Rochefort’s body torn away from his own by Athos’s hands. Gladness filled his heart at the furious glare Athos sent the comte’s way.

Shaking with rage, Athos spotted d’Artagnan trussed up on the bed like a virgin sacrifice. “You must not like to live, Rochefort!” he pulled out his rapier while Aramis and Porthos ran to d’Artagnan’s side. Waiting to hear from Aramis if their young one had been violated, Rochefort answered his unspoken question first.

“As usual, you Musketeers ruin everything,” Rochefort aimed his snide remark at Athos. "You arrived in the nick of time."

“Aramis!” Athos barked sharply, waiting for the damning confirmation that would make him run his blade through the comte’s black heart, not trusting the man's word.

“The poor boy’s been drugged but d’Artagnan’s satisfied my concerns that nothing else untoward had happened." 

Hearing Rochefort snickering, Athos got right up into the man’s face. “Something you care to add?”

“There may have been tongue,” Rochefort’s eyes moved toward the bed where d’Artagnan still lay in a stupor.

“Are you deliberately trying to provoke me?” Athos seethed. “It would be my duty and an extreme pleasure to rid the world of vermin such as you!”

“Athos,” d’Artagnan called out weakly, holding out his hand to his mentor and friend.

Balancing his attention between the comte and his protégé, Athos could see the lad was sitting propped up against Porthos’s chest while Aramis gathered the pup’s clothes together.

“What are you going to do, Athos?” Rochefort held out his arms as he patiently watched the Musketeer worry over d’Artagnan’s welfare, “arrest me.”

“Oui! We will turn you over at once to Captain Treville for punishment,” Athos snapped.

“And the king will have me released before I even reach the Bastille.” Rochefort heard Porthos swear loudly at that and he relished in annoying the dark-skinned man as he dropped his arms back to his sides.

Stepping away from him, Athos knew Rochefort had a point. He had the king’s ear now and this would have to be handled in an entirely different manner. “Be assured that I will inform Treville over this transgression most thoroughly and he in turn will tell the king all,” Athos sheathed his sword as he walked over to d’Artagnan.

“Ya just gonna let him get away with what he did to d’Art?” If it were left up to Porthos to meat out justice, Rochefort would be missing a vital part of his anatomy.

“I’ll let you men take care of things here,” Rochefort grinned. “Oh and d’Artagnan,” he waited for the boy to look at him for he could tell that the youngster's eyes still weren’t tracking properly from the drugs he had consumed, “I'll look forward to having you over for dinner another night.” Laughing at the sick look that crossed the younger man’s face, Rochefort sauntered off.

“I’m sorry,” d’Artagnan gazed sadly at Athos while Porthos and Aramis guided him into his clothes. Once he was fully dressed, d’Artagnan’s face turned a sickly color as he promptly threw up on the floor.

“At least he didn’t get any of us this time,” Porthos laughed as he unwound his bandana and wiped the lad’s mouth.

“Didn’t mean to get you last time,” d’Artagnan mumbled, knowing he referred to an incident, after receiving his commission, when he got drunk as a skunk after hitting nearly every pub in Paris. 

“I know that,” Porthos patted the poor kid on the back in sympathy.

Seeing how unsteady d’Artagnan was on his feet, Athos supported the child with an arm around his waist. Nodding to his friends they left the comte’s residence.

++++

*Athos’s apartment*

Aramis was nervously pacing the room while Porthos kept his hands busy shuffling a deck of cards, leaving d’Artagan’s care to Athos as he deposited the lad in the extra bedroom.

“I should never have gone with him,” d’Artagnan admitted. “You were right not to trust him.” D’Artagnan raised a shaky hand to his head wincing as pain lanced through it. “I only accepted in the first place because I was angry with you.”

“Oui, I thought as much.” Sitting in a chair beside the bed Athos handed d’Artagnan a pain draught Aramis had mixed for him. “See that you drink that all up.”

“Is it another one of his foul concoctions again?” d’Artagnan scowled at the glass as if it were the enemy.

“What do you think?” Athos snorted, waiting for the boy to finish it. Seeing the awful face d’Artagnan pulled afterwards dragged out a soft huff of laughter from him.

“Rochefort wanted to hurt me to get back at the three of you,” d’Artagnan slid under the cool sheets and closed his eyes as the room still danced about. “I don’t know what grudge he has against all of you, but I don’t relish being used as a pawn.”

“That was why I warned you to be careful of him.” Athos placed a hand on the pup’s head, stroking d’Artagnan’s hair soothingly. “It was just a good thing that you stopped and let Porthos know where you were going.”

Before sleep claimed him, d’Artagnan didn’t want to leave things the way they had been lately between the two of them. “Athos, forgive me for not listening to you.”

“One could hope this wouldn’t be repeated in the future,” Athos sighed in resignation, “but you’re young, too young at times to listen to your betters.” He sent the lad a sharp look. “Next time trust older and wiser heads than yours and perhaps things of this nature could be avoided down the line," his lips quirked. "And save me some added grey hairs as well."

Just before he drifted off, d’Artagnan mumbled, “What age would you deem me to have that *older and wiser* head then?”

Watching their youngest finally close his eyes as sleep claimed him, Athos quietly remarked, “In your case, d’Artagnan, that could be never.”

The End


End file.
